


New Year's Resolutions

by ThatWeirdGirlWhoWrites



Series: New Year's Eve [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Kinda Dark, Pre-Season 1, canon child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 10:23:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatWeirdGirlWhoWrites/pseuds/ThatWeirdGirlWhoWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Maybe he'll even be able to pull his shit together this year and finally be the son his dad wants him to be, a son he doesn't have to despise. A son who's worth being loved. Isaac wants to be good so badly. He decides to make it his personal New Year's resolution.</i>
</p><p>New Year's Eve is pretty lonely for Isaac. Set before season 1 of Teen Wolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Year's Resolutions

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys :)
> 
> This is something that's been floating around my mind for a while and now I finally found the guts to actually publish it and see if anyone thinks it's any good.  
> This fic is not beta'd and English is not my first language so please don't hate me for typos/fucked up grammar (feel free to point them out so I can correct them, though :)).
> 
> Feedback will be greatly appreciated!

** 31st December 2010 **

 

Isaac's breath is visible in form of puffy clouds as he makes his way through the dark, empty streets. A kid his age shouldn't be walking around town on his own at this time of the night, but he simply couldn't resist getting out of the house into the cool, fresh air that makes him feel so alive, and it's nobody else out to care anyway. People never seem to care what Isaac does, never even seem to notice him. He has to admit he quite likes it that way. According to his experience not being noticed is usually a lot safer - it certainly is with his dad. _Just be invisible. If he can't see you, he won't see you screw up._ As far as Isaac is concerned it is a good survival strategy.

He hunches his shoulders and shoves his hands deeper into the front pocket of his hoodie. It is a cold night for a California winter, but a starry, clear one, sharp and merciless and beautiful.

When Isaac passes the brightly lit Whittemore mansion - a stronghold made of glass and granite and shielded by security cameras - he can hear voices, laughter, music with a fast beat somewhere in the background. It must be a nice party they are having. Just as Isaac is crossing the street he hears the guests starting to chant, counting down with cheerful voices.

"Ten, nine, eight..."

_Starting a new year surrounded by friends and family..._

"Seven, six, five..."

_**Having** friends and a real family..._

"Four, three..."

_Yeah, that must feel really nice._

"Two, one..."

_Not that Isaac would know._

"Happy New Year!"

Isaac walks on, doesn't turn around. The Whittemores and their guests are probably hugging now, shouting cheers and good wishes over the first tunes of _Auld Lang Syne_ that blast from the stereo.

* * *

 

The Laheys' own house is dark and Isaac's kind of grateful for that. He closes the door as silently as possible behind him and takes his shoes off in the hallway. _Don't make any noise. Don't give him a reason to be mad at you._

Mr Lahey is asleep on the couch when his son enters the living room. There is a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel's on the coffee table. Isaac's dad isn't a frequent drinker - thank God he isn't - but it usually gets ugly on the rare occasions he drinks.

They've had a good Christmas this year - no decorations, no presents, not much talking, but also no fighting, no punishments. Maybe, just maybe Isaac can make the temporary peace last a little longer. Maybe he'll even be able to pull his shit together this year and finally be the son his dad wants him to be, a son he doesn't have to despise. A son who's worth being loved. Isaac wants to be good so badly. He decides to make it his personal New Year's resolution.

He sneaks over to the couch where his father is still soundly asleep and crouches down to pick up the glass Mr Lahey must've dropped. His fingers brush through a puddle of whiskey and just as he's getting up to fetch a rag to clean up the mess he notices something, a piece of paper, slipped partly underneath the couch. The edges are soaked in alcohol and he has to peel them off the wooden floor. When he's finally managed to pick up the object Isaac can't help but stare at it for a few seconds.

It's a photograph, one he had forgotten existed. It shows him, his mom, his dad and Camden at the park, the boys displaying toothy grins, the parents holding hands and smiling into the camera. They look so happy it makes Isaac's heart ache. Where did this picture suddenly come from? Did Dad have it the whole time?

His fingers stroke slowly over the smooth surface until they come to a stop where the liquid has stained it, just over his mother's face. A sharp pain twists Isaac's stomach and makes him feel sick. The photo is irreparably ruined.

"What are you doing there, boy?" Mr Lahey's voice rips Isaac out of his thoughts.

"I-", he stutters. For a moment he is relieved to hear the man sound more sleepy than drunk, but his relief doesn't last long because suddenly his father's gaze darts to the picture in his hands. The man's eyes widen as he takes in the stains, the big splotches where the colour is blurred and the paper starts to curl. Isaac reacts just a second too late.

"I didn't-" He's desperate to explain that no, he didn't do this, no, this time it really, _honestly_ wasn't his fault, but his father's palm connects with his cheek with brute force before he has the chance to. The slap makes Isaac lose his balance and he tumbles backwards, dropping the photograph and hitting his head hard on the edge of the coffee table. Pain explodes behind his eyes and he sees white bolts of light flashing but he bites his tongue and manages to swallow down the scream that was threatning to escape his lips. _Don't cry, it'll only make him angrier._ Staying quiet is more than a habit for Isaac; it's become an instinct, part of his nature, over the years. He simply curls up on the floor, making himself as small as possible and hoping that his dad will only continue to smack him with his open hand and doesn't switch to a fist to the jaw, a belt to the back or a boot to the ribs. He's ready to take all of the above, though. Always suffering silently, never fighting back. This man punishing him is his father, after all, and Isaac so desperately wants to please him, wants a good relationship with him, wants to be loved. Struggling and trying to evade well-deserved punishment, disobeying even further - that certainly wouldn't make him more love-worthy. So Isaac stays down, waiting for the blows to rain down on him. But they don't come.

After a few seconds of silence Isaac dares to look up at the towering figure of a man over him. He's as tall as Dad by now, will probably be even taller than him someday, but he knows for sure that he'll never be as impressive, as powerful. 

Mr Lahey is gripping the picture of his family so hard his knuckles turn white, his eyes fixed on the happy memory of the past rather than on this failure of a son cowering at his feet, the only thing that's left of what was supposed to be the happy, peaceful life of an average American family. Two children, a small house with garden, a dog. A suburban fairytale. Huffing, Mr Lahey grabs Isaac by the hair, dragging him to his feet and then towards the door that leads to the basement. The boy will pay for ruining the photo. He'll pay for ruining everything. 

"Dad..." Isaac's voice is barely more than a whisper, a plea for permission to speak. "Dad", the boy continues when no hit, no discouraging response comes. "I know I'm not Camden, not even close." His voice starts to crack when he stumbles down the stairs, his father's firm hand leading him down into the darkness. He realizes he should be in pain, inflicted by the rough grip that's pulling on his hair, but he's unable to feel anything but the panic rising in his chest. "But I promise I can do better. Please, Dad..."  _Please don't take me down there._ "I'll get better grades, I'll keep my room clean... I'll take the night shift at the graveyard if you want me to, just  _please_..."  _Anything but that..._

 _  
_They've reached the bottom of the stairs and Mr Lahey shoves his son away from himself, disgusted with the boy's weakness. All that begging and whining makes his head ache. Why couldn't that useless brat just suck it up for once and take his punishment like a man? Now Isaac's even trembling as his father approaches him and there are tears in his blue eyes, those eyes that look so fucking much like the kid's mother's and so very unlike Mr Lahey's which are shallow and kind of lifeless, like coffee stains on a white napkin. In the family portrait, they were sparkling and so much younger, though...

"Dad, please..." Isaac's begging again and they both know how pathetic it sounds. "This year's gonna be different, I swear."

There are a few moments of uncomfortable silence and Isaac - still not moving a muscle, head still bowed, the epitome of submission - dares to hope that his father might actually consider giving him a second chance, that they might finally be able to get things right this year. 

But then Mr Lahey starts to laugh, a dry, humourless bark. 

"It's gonna be  _different?_ You really believe that, Isaac?" 

He takes two long, energetic steps forward and notices with satisfaction that the teen flinches. At least _something_ he has managed to teach his son: proper respect. 

"I'll tell you something", he says, harshly gripping Isaac's chin and forcing him to look up. Meeting his dad's eyes is something Isaac has made a habit of avoiding. It makes him feel naked, vulnerable. Mr Lahey's face is only inches away from his son's, close enough for Isaac to smell the alcohol on the other's breath, as he hisses slowly, deliberately: "Absolutely  _nothing_ is gonna change. You know why?" He holds up the picture he is still clutching in his left hand and crumbles it in his fist, never breaking eye contact with Isaac. "Because some things..." He drops the paper and steps on it, dragging it over the bare concrete floor with his foot until it's completely ripped and torn. "...are simply too damaged to be fixed again. It's an important lesson, son. You better remember it."

* * *

 

Isaac spends the first hours of the new year locked in the freezer. As his claustrophobia gets the better of him, his breaths become shorter and his heart rate skyrockets, the last coherent thought he is able to form before the red-hot panic drowns out everything else is a silent promise to himself never to make New Year's resolutions again. 

He doesn't _fully_ agree with his father - in Isaac's opinion, things _do_ change. They just never get better.


End file.
